


Whisper in Silence

by Kitty Fisher (kittyfisher)



Category: Miami Vice (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dominance, Dubious Consent, M/M, Sex, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 05:34:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8359219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittyfisher/pseuds/Kitty%20Fisher
Summary: Castillo bends Crockett, who isn't sure if he'll break. written a long time ago, repost from a zine, I think...





	

A WHISPER IN SILENCE  
Kitty Fisher

 

Morning was a charlatan. Flat on his back, tangled in week-old bed-clothes, Crockett listened to the silence that shimmered around him and stared at the peeling paint-work above his head. It was as if someone had stolen the new day and replaced it with a rerun of an old, worn-out one instead. What a cheat; there was no sense at all of this being a new morning. No sense of anything much, apart from the numbness that stifled his brain.

Sometimes he could remember how good it had been. Now it seemed a long time ago, when every morning had been a challenge. Now the challenge was in crawling out of bed.

He sighed into the salty air, feeling the weight of his gun where it pressed into his belly.

For reassurance.

Like a child with its comforter.

The metal was cool to his fingers' touch. Cool and hard. Even without looking he could see every fraction of it, knew it better than the face he stared at when shaving. He cupped his hand around its familiarity, pressing it into his body so that to breathe he had to force it away with the muscles of his gut. Held it there.

Felt its truth.

Shocking.

He relaxed, lifted the gun, fingers slipping into position without thought - easier than breathing. He held it above his face, sighting thin air, holding it there until his arms began to quiver with tension. He let them fall, the gun coming to rest close to his cheek.

Sonny Crockett closed his eyes and felt the darkness, strange seductor, drawing him in. Temptation, a voice he was so close to it was kin, whispered in sibilant prophecy.

He could let go.

It would be so easy.

He could give up on thought, on life, on self. On pain.

His eyes snapped open. Pitiful!

Self-loathing tasted bitter in his mouth. 

Other people suffered, you just have a few problems. Most of them your own making.

Yeah, yeah - a few fucking problems...

All of a sudden, he laughed, the sound absolutely without humour. A few goddamned, fucking problems.

The sound of his laughter was dry, echoing round the cabin.

And today he had to go to work. He took a deep breath that killed the laughter and held him still.

Work. Where Castillo would be.

He hugged the gun to himself, shivered.

The rags of his self held together. Just.

And with all the eagerness of a soldier crawling into enemy fire, he climbed out of bed.

 

Sonny Crockett walked into the squad room and knew immediately that things were way out of key. Hell, he hadn't wanted to be here.

But he was.

He slowed his step, feeling the fine hairs on his forearms lift in warning. Trudi and Gina were huddled in corner whispering, Switek leant against a wall staring at the floor and Tubbs was sitting at his desk. He was seemingly immersed in a report, yet from the tense set of his shoulders, the line of his back, Sonny could see he was completely on edge.

Wary, Crockett slid his hands into the pockets of his linen trousers and cocked an eyebrow at the world. "Mornin'!" Bright and breezy, that's the way. He smiled widely at the girls, nodded at Switek and went over to Tubbs, perching himself casually on the edge of the desk.

"You're late!"

"And a good morning to you, Rico!" Crockett felt like his smile was getting set in place. "It's a beautiful day, sun's shining..." he broke off, the remnants of the smile out of place on a face shadowed by watchful eyes, scanning round about for the cause of all the tension.

"Yeah, it might be a good one for you, Sonny. But just give it a while."

Ominous. Sonny raised a questioning eyebrow, seeing Tubbs' dark eyes slide towards the lieutenant's office before heading straight back to the report in his hand.

"Castillo in?"

Tubbs actually flinched.

Crockett met the glare and shrugged. "Hell, you all might have won a sweepstake but lost the ticket."

"Clown. See, I'm laughing myself stupid. Hang around for a while, man, see if you're feeling so funny then."

Ostensibly reaching to pick up a pen from the far side of Rico's desk, Sonny muttered, "But he was fine yesterday."

Their eyes met, dark and light, a single shared concern giving them singularity. "That, as you so rightly said, was yesterday." Tubbs watched his partner, wondering what to say. The skin under his eyes looked bruised with tiredness, the tension that never left him shimmering finely in the air. But then, the lieutenant wasn't the only one taking a walk right on the edge these days.

"Shit."

"You said it." Tubbs sat back slightly, trying to see what to do. Crockett certainly looked ragged. Pale under his Miami tan, lined around the eyes, long, sun-bleached hair ragged around his sombre face. White trousers, unstructured white jacket over a black silk t-shirt, he sat easy on the desk, one long leg swinging, the other braced on the floor. The hands playing with the pen were brown and slim, beautiful, if you ignored the ragged nails on a man who had a manicure every month.

"I'll go talk with him."

"Make sure you tread soft, man."

"What's he gonna do, Rico? Eat me alive?"

Maybe.

"Way he laid into Trudi this morning, I wouldn't put nothin' past him."

So it really was bad. Crockett stood up slowly, his eyes fixed on the closed door, wondering what demon lurked behind it. What demons of his own he would have to stir to face it.

"I'll see what I can do."

"You the optimist or what?"

"The what, most like." At that he smiled, though Rico, watching intently, missed the part where it reached his eyes.

"Be cool, Sonny. Don't you tread on his tail..."

Tubbs watched the slim blond walk away, his eyes shadowed with speculation. He knew that there was something between the two men, his friend and his boss. Sonny, drunk and way out of his skull one night had said something, but no way near enough. Tubbs knew that whatever it was brought both men down when they were wired. But he also knew that it was something Sonny was unsure of, had begun to doubt himself for. Something that was turning him inside out and wringing him out to dry.

And it couldn't just be sex. Sonny had no problems with that, Tubbs could testify for that one himself. Hand on heart.

Rico trusted both men without question. He'd seen the static of sexual heat that had flared between them from the first, smiled on it, seen it as a way of partially defusing the bomb that was Burnett, the walking incendiary that was Castillo. Most of the time it did just that. But lately... Castillo was darker and, somehow, Sonny less light. As if he smiled less, though that wasn't really true. More as if he smiled without ever seeing the point of the joke. Perhaps he had misread the situation and in fact it was good for neither man. Or at least not so for Crockett. Castillo you could never tell about at all.

The door closed behind Sonny. Tubbs glanced up and caught a look between Gina and Trudi. 

Hell, did everyone know? Did the whole squad room wait for Sonny to come and sort their lieutenant out? Shit. As long as the object of their interest never found out. Tubbs couldn't imagine that going down well with either man. He shook his head, catching Gina's eye, but she looked away as if in shame.

A shame that to a certain extent he shared. Pointlessly. For there was nothing he could do - nothing any of them could do. Sonny and the lieutenant would work it out. Somehow. He bent his head and began reading. There was nothing he could do. A fact that tasted of wormwood.

Tubbs was still pretending to read the same damn report when about seven minutes later Crockett emerged from Castillo's office.

If anything his pallor was more pronounced. And he didn't bother to even try to smile. Rico watched as he crossed to his own desk and sat down to stare blindly at his folded hands. Tension rippled around him in an invisible force-field that had a large sign posted on it; keep out.

By right, Tubbs ignored it. "You okay, Sonny?"

After a moment, the tired eyes looked up and Rico winced.

"Yeah, I'm just fine."

Liar.

"Rico?"

"Yeah?"

"I'll have to beg off tonight. You mind?"

Tubbs didn't even bother asking why. "Sure, man. We can catch the next game. No problem."

A quirking attempt at a smile. "Thanks."

"Like I said, don't mention it." Tubbs shifted as if uncomfortable. "If you want to come round later. After whatever it is you gotta do... Just thought I'd remind you, I'll be alone."

Crockett stirred himself, though the banter was false, "What, no piece of honey ready to drop everything when you whistle?"

There was also a certain bitterness there. Tubbs ignored it, though he stored the anger Sonny's pain caused him for later. He might need it. "Not tonight. If you want me, call round, okay?"

"Yeah." Sonny nodded, his voice soft, slightly uneven. He swallowed sharply, tasting the bitterness of Castillo in his mouth.

If he could talk to anyone, then it would be Tubbs. Castillo didn't talk at all when they were alone. Not then. Not anymore. But Sonny wasn't sure he could talk to anyone, wasn't sure if he knew the right words.

He sighed, and surreptitiously wiping his mouth with his fingers, pulled over his typewriter. A stack of reports awaited his attention and it was still only morning. 

It really was going to be a long day.

 

*

 

He stood in front of the door for a long time, knowing that he would open it, but waiting, asking himself as he always did the same unanswerable questions.

He could hear water running close by, the rustle of leaves in the strengthening breeze. It was cooler than it had been, a storm was coming. The wind would be whipping the waves now, he could see it in his mind's eye, despite the house lying between him and the ocean. One reality obscured by another.

Sonny Crockett reached out his hand, almost dazed by his own unwillingness, confused by the scatter-shot series of images that were forcing their way through his thoughts. Flashbacks. Flashes of the next hours. He tilted his head and blinked hard. The images faded. Take each moment as it comes. Sound advice - shame it wasn't a bit easier to take.

The key, glinting like silver trapped beneath the waves, slid soundlessly into the lock. It always fitted, the door always opened, though every time he expected it not to, as if the man he was here to keep sane might have changed his mind in an hour. Changed the locks. Changed everything. Every time Crockett doubted. But then, by habit, he doubted the world.

Every time...

Don't think about it. Do it.

You chose this.

He caught his breath on the thought - yes, I chose this. As always, there had been the possibility of refusal. He could have used the excuse of a prior engagement, even just said no. Right now he could have been at Tubbs' apartment enjoying an evening of football and margheritas. But no. Crockett had answered yes without thought. Because the truth was simply that he wanted this as much as his lieutenant. Needed it just as badly. As shamefully.

He closed his eyes and shivered. Then pushed the door open and stepped through, to pause dry lipped in the shadows, blinking uncertainly.

Don't think.

He walked the length of the familiar hallway, rope-soled shoes whispering on the tiles. The door at the end was open, slightly ajar. Muted light spilled, in geometric shadows, across the pale linen of his suit as he walked soft-footed into the room.

Castillo was there. As always.

Seated on a hard-framed chair, hands resting lightly on his knees, he could have been carved from shadow. Dark and sombre, dressed as if for the office in the formality of a two piece suit, the white of his shirt neatly bisected by a thin, black leather tie.

Crockett stood, his breath catching lightly in his throat as he watched the stillness. Need flared without volition in his blood. He wanted to say so much, but the words weren't there and all he could do was wait, wait as the dark head slowly lifted and eyes bleak as obsidian, cold as deepest water, stared him in the face.

"Take your clothes off." Deep, rough edged, the voice set off a vibration that hummed through Crockett's body, from his toes right to the roots of his hair.

There was never any choice, never any doubt. Not when his body reacted like this.

Practised, graceful as a thousand-dollar whore, he slid out of his jacket, tossing the linen carelessly to the floor. A thud as his holstered gun dropped to the floor. Allowing himself two paces into the room he kicked off both espadrilles and pulled the black t-shirt loose. For a long moment he held the stance, weight on one hip, then pulled himself free of the silk, letting the oblique lighting catch on the pull of muscle as he moved, the fall of hair as it spilled palely onto his shoulders.

Sometimes he could provoke a sound before their bodies even met. Sometimes Castillo would be hard before they even touched.

They were the nights Crockett claimed as victory. The others, and there were far more of them, all belonged to Castillo.

His trousers were fastened with buttons. He undid each one in turn, the bone sliding with reluctance through silk stitching. But the reluctance was in sanity only. The madness in his blood fought to be naked. Only knowing that this was all part of the act kept him from ripping the clothing away. He smiled inside, acknowledging that seduction has its secrets.

And when he was bared, stripped for the other man's pleasure, the fabric pooled around his bare feet, the madness had won. Now he was Castillo's. As here he always was. Lifting his head he met Castillo's eyes; the look all challenge, defiance, all of it an act. When he used the key and entered this house, he had only one purpose - submission.

"Come here."

That voice again. Crockett shivered as if cold water had trickled lingeringly down his back. Very slowly he moved, coming to rest in the shadows formed by his superior's thighs. He stood quite still, the moment of waiting drawn tight, perfected. He could feel cotton, rough against the outer skin of his knees; smell the amber toned spice that came from no bottle.

Suddenly, Sonny wanted this very much.

All of it.

The power. The secrecy.

The darkness that consumed him without cessation.

He wanted Castillo, and if crawling was the only way to have him, then he'd crawl. Or stand naked in a shadowy room, the night purple though the expanse of windows, with darkness the only spectator. Whatever it took.

Regardless of what his dreams might say.

Very slowly, one of Castillo's hands lifted, and reaching forward ran lightly down the smooth-skinned belly. Sonny hissed, inadequately controlling the shiver of lust that gradually angled his heavy cock away from his body. Slowly, olive fingers ran downwards until the curve of jutting flesh arrested their path. Sonny sucked in a sharp breath, then released it shakily as the fingers skimmed away.

Then he had to watch as the sure, adept hands performed the task he wanted for himself; baring Castillo. The sound of the zipper opening raised the fine hairs on his arms and then without artistry yet with absolute eroticism the trousers were peeled back, underwear pushed down, freeing the long, wide-headed shaft, leaving it naked in the frame of dark wool and white cotton; utterly obscene, utterly desirable.

Castillo settled back, resting his hands on his thighs, waiting a long, drawn out moment that was a test to both their control. Then, in a whisper, he gave his command: "Make me hard."

Tongue moistening his lips, Crockett sank gently to his knees and without pause or question, hands held at his sides, swallowed cock. Immediately it responded and he growled with pleasure as his mouth filled, then, gradually, his throat. He took it deep, sucking until he could taste salt and the only softness was in thin skin sheathing iron. 

Sonny glanced up and caught the dark eyes watching. In empty air his own cock jerked, already beginning to weep.

Spice filled his senses, enveloping the world, musk burning him with need. Greedy, he wanted it all and opened his jaw wide, fucking himself on the length and width that on each push and pull threatened nausea, scraping his cheeks on wool and the metal zipper, lips tangling in the dark mass of curling pubic hair. Uncaring, he pulled it deep, either forgetting to breath, or gasping around the weight, as the soft, flaring head caught in his throat and threatened to choke all life from his body. Always, he took in air at the last minute, always. Each time falling deeper into the rhythm, letting it blur the edges of his self, letting it erode away at thought until nothing was left but sensation, possession. Submission.

The mere thought had him poised on the precipice, ready. But a hand twisted through his hair, tugging hard. He let go immediately, letting the glistening flesh slide from his mouth. The hand kept hold, pulling tighter until he gasped out loud, the sound deep in his throat: deeper than even that cock had touched. Only then did the hand let go.

Crockett rested his face on a cool, fabric covered thigh, his breath ragged. A hand, the same hand as before, smoothed lightly over his hair, touched his swollen lips. Buried in the shadows, Crockett allowed himself a small smile.

"Stand up."

Regretfully he obeyed, standing lean and lithe and needy; rough trade, ready for anything. There was nothing of the cop left, the slick performance as Crockett far away, Burnett a shadow on a far off landscape. As if the intensity had stripped all the dark layers of pretence away, leaving his true self laid bare, willingly given up to the mercy of a man who didn't change at all.

"Go and stand by the table."

In a dream, the real world gone to the devil, Crockett obeyed. His own cock was seeping, hard with heedless desire. he didn't touch it, knew better. He'd learned very quickly the limits of his freedom once he entered this house. He stood by the glass table, quite still, and listened to the sound of clothes being removed and folded. He stared at the table and watched his own reflection, seeing his body distorted, softened. He stared for what seemed a long time, waiting with his heart beating like an echo in his ears.

A body came to stand close, heat burning his skin, and he flinched, expecting anything but the warm arms that wrapped about him.

Castillo whispered in his ear, "I want you."

There was no doubt. Sonny nodded, his hair glinting palely in the erratic light, his skin sheened with sweat. Hands found the tight sweetness of his nipples and brushed against them, again, then pinched hard, bringing the same keening sound from his throat. He leaned back, wanting, feeling the strength that supported his body, shuddering when Castillo let one hand touch his cock, nearly coming with a terrifying suddenness that receded, leaving him giddy, sick with something close to vertigo.

"Bend forward. And put your hands behind your back."

He knew this and shivered. It would be all right. There were no surprises here. He bent. The table was very cold against his skin, but he pressed against it and waited whilst something, the leather tie, was bound around his wrists.

Pressed to the smoky glass it felt as if he was floating, swimming through a dark sea that lapped at his senses. He watched his breath mist the cold surface, watched the cloud spread and recede with each expiration and inhalation. He was shivering, still hard, his cock long and slender, bereft, seen clearly through the glass.

Something cold touched him between the buttocks, he shifted as the gel was pressed into him, grunting as the fingers indulged in little delicacy. But he didn't complain; he was too busy shivering with anticipation.

Hands took firm hold of his hips, a warm body pushed between his legs, pushing them wide and then it was there; blunt, brutal, cleaving him apart with a single stroke that gave no mercy. Breathless, he stilled, waiting for the pain to die, for Castillo to move again. After four ragged breaths it happened, a long, gentle withdrawal, then a slamming re-entry that had him wide mouthed, saliva smearing across the glass.

Again. He arched away from the invasion, only be held still, feeling bruising on his hips as Castillo's fingers dug deep. Again. He wanted to weep, but pushed that need away, burying it in another as he fought for and finally found pleasure.

Played with, tormented, he wanted it never to end. Letting himself be taken, used, he tried to hold back response but a hand cracked against his flank and he moved again, opening wider with each ploughing of his body, wanting to take everything, every inch, wishing the cock was impossibly bigger; was Castillo's hand, his wrist, his arm, opening him wide, reaching inside to take his heart in his fingers and squeeze it tight.

The image was too much. He tried to stop it, but Castillo knew. The hand cracked against his side, again and again, the pain melting into the sublime and he arched backwards, wrenched helplessly by every pulse and twist of a pleasure that seemed to tear the seed from his body.

Destroyed, he lay flat against the glass and gasped desperately for air. Numb, his whole being depended on the reality of impalement. There was nothing else.

A hand stroked down his back and to his own horror the sound that emerged from his mouth was close to a whimper. He bit down hard on the betrayal, waiting for the tenderness to go away. Yet it didn't, the hand continued to calm and reassure until his breathing eased and he lay beyond movement, beyond thought. Then, only then, did the moving hand still.

Eyes suddenly wide, wary, Sonny waited, held balanced on a moment of suspense, then his bound hands were taken in a firm grasp. Pulled upright, the weight of his own body pushed the spear of flesh so deep that he cried out a protest.

Lied.

For when Castillo fucked him with short, hard strokes that battered his flesh he was moaning, his cock rising again.

Castillo came silently, his breath a whisper at Sonny's neck, his pleasure a bite that would mark the smooth curve of pale gold shoulder for a week.

Pulled out of, unbound, left alone, Sonny stared at the glass table, trying to make a Rosharch test of the mark his spit had left on the smooth surface. He held still, listening as Castillo walked away, as the sound of a shower running came from the bathroom, and as the cooling remains of semen trickled slowly from his body.

He knew this routine well - it was always the same. He had to wait until Castillo was out of the shower, then he got to use it himself. Then he went home.

Very simple.

And suddenly completely unbearable. He couldn't wait. Couldn't play the whore, with only the simplicity of cleanliness as payment. Not tonight, maybe not any more.

To his horror he found he was shaking. He couldn't fall apart, not here...

Unsteadily, listening all the time for the sound of the shower finishing, he dressed. Finding his clothes, climbing into them without any care, hurrying, needing to be dressed, to be gone. He held his gun like a life-line, a talisman, and fumbling awkwardly for the Ferrari's keys he walked to the door, wanting to look back but not daring; wanting a voice to call his name, but unwilling to pay the price.

 

*

 

Alone in his apartment, Ricardo Tubbs lounged on his sofa, a glass of juice - with a little added extra - in one hand, the TV remote in the other. Despite the fact that his finger was skimming through the channels, little of his attention was focused on the screen. He was elsewhere, miles away.

Wondering how the thing between Sonny and the lieutenant had begun. Wondering when - and how - it would end.

Sonny had lived through enough pain in his life. He didn't need any more. Yet that was all Rico could see for him in this; Castillo didn't seem to be very good with his lovers. Hell, he was a disaster to them...

Tubbs sat up, putting the glass down and zapping the tv, its inanities suddenly an irritation. He ran his hands across his face and wondered what he could do. More importantly, what either man would let him do.

Damn them both!

He jumped as the door-buzzer sounded.

Sonny.

It had to be... Just in case, he took his gun in his hand and went to answer the summons. The buzzer went again, this time a finger held it down.

Yeah, Sonny. And probably not that happy.

"Alright, alright! Give it a rest..." He picked up the entry-phone. "Yeah?"

"Tubbs, it's me..."

"Who's that?"

"Don't piss me about, Rico, just open the goddamned door, will you!"

Right on about him not being happy. Tubbs frowned, putting away his gun. Yet for all he had imagined, Sonny's appearance shocked him. The figure that appeared at his door was so close to the edge, it was a wonder he wasn't in freefall. "Sonny!"

"Yeah." Sonny stood in the doorway, one hand resting against the frame. Tubbs wondered if without it he'd fall over. "Gonna invite me in?"

"Yeah, man, come on in. Take the weight off..." 

Tubbs voice tailed off as Crockett walked past him, heading straight for a bottle of Jack, pouring himself a long measure. He downed it in one and didn't even blink.

"Make yourself at home, please!" Tubbs followed him in, trying to tease. "Pour yourself a drink maybe!"

"Hey, Rico, don't." Sonny's voice was rough and uneven. "It's been a hell of an evening." He turned, and in profile Tubbs could see him swallow hard.

"Sorry, man, I was just kidding. You know that..."

"Yeah." Crockett nodded and put the glass down. He didn't move or say anything else.

"You okay?"

Sonny closed his eyes and swayed slightly, as if the room had just taken a dip beneath his feet. Opening he saw Tubbs begin to move towards him. He took a pace back, but found an answer. "I don't know." He shrugged, looking away. "I don't honestly know." Deep breath. "I shouldn't have come here."

"Why?" Rico was insulted. "I'm your friend, Sonny, aren't I?"

Head bowed, Crockett could only nod.

"Then tell me about it!" Tubbs stopped himself from trying to touch, though it was hard. "I can help."

Very slowly, Crockett looked up and for a moment his eyes met Tubbs'.

"Sonny..." Rico was at his side, reaching to touch one arm, but Crockett moved slightly, subtly moving himself out of reach.

"I'm sorry." It was a whisper as he backed away, heading for the door.

"Sonny!"

"No, Rico. I was wrong to come here, 'night..." He stumbled slightly over the carpet but made it to the door.

"We don't have to talk, you can just be here!"

But Rico was entreating empty air. He stood for a long time, staring at the closed door, confused as hell by the whirlwind visit. He debated for a long time whether to follow, tried to fathom what sonny wanted - what he needed. In the end he reached for his address book and thumbed through its pages. He didn't want to be alone. Not tonight. Page after page slipped past his fingers, names and numbers, beautiful girls. In the end he threw the book down, cursed softly. After a while he picked up his car-keys and headed for the door.

 

*

Tubbs boarded the Dance calling Sonny's name softly. There was no answer, not even from Elvis who seemed to be soundly asleep.

He felt rather stupid. Hell, Sonny was grown enough not to need a nursemaid. Rico tutted to himself, but didn't go back. The image of his partner as he had been stayed burned in his brain.

If he wasn't here...

Well, a night searching through the dives of Miami would be on.

"Sonny?"

Tubbs sincerely hoped he was here. He'd go looking if he had to, but...

There was a light on in the cabin and hope lifted his spirits. Practicality brought his gun into his hand.

"Sonny, you there?"

He started down the steps, slowly, gun nosing ahead.

The place was a mess, as if it had been searched by someone who didn't care. No, by someone who was actively, wantonly destructive.

And in the middle of the chaos stood Castillo.

For a long moment they held each others gaze, molasses and treacle, each carefully without expression. Then Castillo straightened. "You can put the gun away."

Tubbs stared, then holstered it, leaving the strap unfastened.

"Who did this?"

"Crockett."

Tubbs curled his lip in derision and came down the last few steps. "What was he trying to do, break up the place?" 

"No, he was packing."

"What!"

"There's nothing left here that he'd need. He must have had some of it prepared."

"No!" Tubbs began his own search, but everything was as Castillo said, the belongings that remained, Sonny could live without. Everything he needed was gone. He tried not to believe it. "Someone could have taken him, made it look like he's just up and left..."

"No. He did this himself."

The absolute certainty struck true. Tubbs shrugged his shoulders and glared at his superior. "Why would he do that."

Silence.

"What did you do to him earlier?"

The accusation struck home and for the first time ever Tubbs saw Castillo almost caught off balance. He swallowed, controlled himself. "Nothing he didn't want."

"Nothing?" Tubbs let the anger grow. "Are you quite sure?"

"Yes!"

"Then why are we standing here."

Silence.

"He visited me tonight." Tubbs nodded once, as that caught Castillo's interest. "He was...close to the edge. He didn't exactly look like you'd given him a fine time of it. Did you fight?"

"No."

"Then why the fuck did he leave?"

Castillo considered, then decided on the truth. "He never stays, it isn't what..."

He broke off, but the rest of the sentence was loud in Tubbs head: "What you want. You selfish..." Tubbs crossed his arms around his body and tried to remember who he was talking to. He kicked at the tumble of belongings scattered around his feet, his mind running on what they had done, on how it had twisted into this. Sonny may have liked it rough, but to be treated like shit, like a whore...no wonder he'd up and run. "Shit, man, did you ever think what he might want?"

"Yes."

"When you were fucking him - I bet you did that well enough, didn't you! But what about afterwards..." he let the words tail off, showing his disgust in his eyes, in his face.

"He never complained."

"Did you expect him to?"

They held still, anger flaring between them. Then Castillo turned away, ice spreading across fire. A fire that burst into a conflagration at Tubbs next words: "He loved you, did you know that?"

"No..."

"I didn't either until today. Now it all makes sense."

"Sense?"

"Yeah, anyone else treated Crockett like you did would have seen the business end of his gun. Comprende?"

"He..."

"...loved you. Yeah. And fuck knows what you felt for him. Though he's good in bed, so maybe you felt something..."

"I did."

And it all spread out like a map before Tubbs eyes. He blinked, suddenly. "Why didn't you tell him?" All the anger was gone, leaving only immense sorrow in its wake.

"I didn't think it was what he wanted to hear, and maybe," Castillo took a deep breath, "there was just too much going down. It hasn't been an easy year."

"That's the truth."

Castillo ignored the muttered interjection. "I should have seen where it was driving him, but..."

"...but you needed him, and were scared of driving him away. Hell, you've both been blind."

"And foolish."

Tubbs sat down heavily on the edge of the bed and looked at his hands. "We'll, no, you'll have to find him."

"Yes."

"Tell him..."

"A great deal."

"He could be holed up in a bar somewhere." Tubbs offered the hope and looked up.

"Maybe. I've some leave due, I'll find him."

"Want any help?"

"No." Brief pause. "But thank you."

Tubbs almost smiled. "If you change your mind..."

"I'll remember."

Castillo headed for the steps.

"Be lucky, man. Bring him home, I don't want to loose another partner."

"Neither do I."

And he was gone, leaving Tubbs alone in the wrecked cabin, still unsure if he had done the right thing. After a while he stood and began to tidy up. If Sonny came back he wouldn't want to come home to this.

When he came back.

Tubbs shivered gently in the warm night, and wouldn't let himself doubt.

 

*

 

A hundred miles away, headlights making a sable ribbon of the winding black-top, the Ferrari headed at speed into the night. Sonny drove without any sense of escape, or pleasure. He simply drove because to stay would have been insupportable.

He was running away and he didn't care.

The black cloud of depression followed along side, but that was to be expected. It had been there a long time, he'd grown used to it.

Very carefully he thought of little. He did briefly think about Tubbs, considered stopping at a gas-station to call him, but decided he couldn't. Not yet. Castillo he couldn't even think about.

Numb, he drove on, heading to somewhere, he wasn't sure where. Miami was behind him and it would stay that way, with all its secrets and pain buried away. There had to be somewhere else to go.

Somewhere.


End file.
